


In which Fantine is an invaluable friend

by Sunfreckle



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Enjolras POV, Fluff, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Period-typical homophobia? never heard of her, Regency with gender equality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 10:23:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16427528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Sunfreckle
Summary: “Your papa has told me you’ve been rather out of humour.”“I am quite well,” Enjolras assured her, still avoiding to meet Fantine’s eye. “Nothing at all the matter with me.”“Is that so,” Fantine mused aloud, squeezing his arm gently. “So this alleged despondency has nothing to do with a certain gentleman?”





	In which Fantine is an invaluable friend

**Author's Note:**

> This was written because lilysayuri-chan was foolish enough to ask for "a kiss on the hand for Enjoltaire in a Regency AU" and it got dreadfully out of hand.

 

Fantine – none of those that called them her friends still called her the widow Tholomyes – had been a friend of the family since before Enjolras had been sent off to school. Her daughter, merely a few years younger than himself, had been a favourite playmate whenever they were both at home and Fantine – since his own home had a decided lack of what his fathers sportingly called ‘genteel female presence’ – had always been a particular confidante.

This particular morning Enjolras did not feel like confiding much, however, which was unfortunate, because Fantine always seemed to find a way to make him talk regardless. For a considerable while they walked in silence, Fantine on Enjolras’ arm and both of them looking about them at the familiar country lanes, but at length the moment Enjolras knew had been coming arrived.

“Your papa has told me you’ve been rather out of humour.”

Enjolras kept his gaze ahead of him. “I am sorry to hear that,” he replied. “I hope he does not think my work is suffering for it.”

“Now really,” Fantine scolded gently. “You know this wasn’t a reproach. Your parents are worried about you, my dear, that is all.”

“I am quite well,” Enjolras assured her, still avoiding to meet Fantine’s eye. “Nothing at all the matter with me.”

“Is that so,” Fantine mused aloud, squeezing his arm gently. “So this alleged despondency has nothing to do with a certain gentleman?”

Enjolras’ face did not fall, but his posture became just a little stiff. “You need not be so delicate,” he said. “I will not burst into tears at the mention of Grantaire’s name.”

“Perhaps not,” Fantine replied kindly. “But that is possibly as bitter sounding a speech as I have ever heard from you.”

A pang of shame made Enjolras’ feet hold still and he turned to face Fantine, looking into her face with sudden emotion displayed on his own. “Forgive me,” he muttered. “I did not mean—”

He fell silent and Fantine gave him a feeling look. “What I cannot understand,” she said gently, “is why you have not spoken to your parents yet. I assure you they are both very ready to give their consent, whenever you see fit to ask for it.”

It suddenly seemed to Enjolras that the whole weight of the heavens was pressing down on him. “Their consent shall not be required,” he managed to say.

“My dear boy,” Fantine said in surprise. “You are not about to tell me that you have convinced yourself Grantaire does not care for you!”

A grimace passed over Enjolras’ face. If only that had been the case. If only he was still capable of believing what he had believed only a twelvemonth ago, that Grantaire had no feelings towards him but scorn and that he himself would always be indifferent. But no, the present situation was worse, so much worse than that.

Slowly, Enjolras offered Fantine his arm again, waiting for her to take it before he resumed his step.

“His feelings towards me are as immaterial as my feelings towards him,” he spoke measuredly, when he had composed himself. “Mrs. Grantaire may be very willing to have me as a dinner guest, but I doubt she would approve of my connection to her family going any further than that.”

Being from a family of publishers, Enjolras’ was well aware that his friendship with the heir to the principle estate in the neighbourhood had been watched with quite a number of raised eyebrows. More than once he had heard himself and his fathers spoken of as ‘excellent conversationalists, but rather too political’ and he also knew that there were several people in the neighbourhood that only deemed it worthwhile to invite him because he happened to look well moving about drawing rooms.

For most of his life Enjolras had not minded this kind of talk and gladly made use of the insulting invitations with the sole purpose of introducing the subjects of ethics and politics to the various undereducated children of the local gentry. At present, however, even the recollection of it stung, and he could not sneer at it.

“You are worried Grantaire won’t be able to secure his parent’s consent?” Fantine asked cautiously.

Enjolras raised his head, looking at the sky, dotted with clouds. “I do not think it would be fair to make him try to obtain it.” He could hear Fantine’s protesting intake of breath so he continued urgently: “Grantaire will have to run the estate, I will have the business in town. We are only here in summer. Father was lucky that papa never minded the travel, or the separations. I will not give up my business. Grantaire may seem to be an idle sort of man, but he cares for his tenants, his family, the land. I will not have him give that up either.”

A short silence followed, in which Enjolras felt himself fill with that strange emptiness that always follows a speech one has been holding in for a very long time. Finally, Fantine broke it.

“How peculiar,” she said thoughtfully. “I do believe that it was walking along this very same lane, that you insisted on speaking to me about the doctrine of free choice until I felt obliged to check if you had ingested an entire library on the subject.”

Enjolras felt his cheeks burn, a boyish affliction he really wished he would have left behind him by now. “That is not—”

“But it seems Mr. Grantaire is extended no such courtesy?” Fantine continued lightly. “No chance of manifesting his will through the power of deliberation? If all those that wish him well are like you, my dear, I do fear for the development of his agency. And whatever may become of his authenticity I really do not know.”

“Fantine—” Enjolras protested, both to the mockery of philosophy and her accusations towards himself, but her eyes were already twinkling at him from below her bonnet.

“You have not even given the poor boy a chance to find our how you feel, have you?” she said.

“I…” Enjolras shut his mouth. He had never _told_ Grantaire how he felt, but surely he must know. After all these months, he must have found out. If he did not know it yet during Courfeyrac’s dinner party, he must have seen through Enjolras when they met in town, or at the picnic, or the ball, at Bahorel and Feuilly’s wedding… He looked back at Fantine helplessly. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” she repeated with fond exasperation. “Well then I _assure_ you, Grantaire does not know either.”

Enjolras did not know what to say to this. He was not a man often rendered speechless, but this time he certainly was.

“Perhaps you did not mean to decide for him after all?” Fantine asked delicately. “But you merely thought he already made up his mind?”

Enjolras swallowed. Surely if Grantaire thought it was possible for them to marry, he would have at least _hinted_ at his wishes. But then, Grantaire’s speeches were often so layered, so steeped in wit and irony, that it was very hard to catch his true meaning at the best of times. And if Fantine was right, if he truly did not know…

“Oh Fantine what do I do?”

The words had passed Enjolras lips before he had meant to speak them and in a moment he was a boy again. He was eight and had torn his best shirt, he was twelve and had punched another boy, he was sixteen and dreading a new tutor. And then he was two-and-twenty again, and too much in love to think with clarity.

“I think perhaps,” Fantine replied, a smile trembling on her lips, “you might start by talking with him.”

Without meaning to Enjolras dropped Fantine’s arm, looking round at her wildly. “I might have spoken to him in private at Bossuet’s the other day! Or last week, after Jehan’s reading. And now here it is Wednesday already and I am to accompany father back to town tomorrow, for a fortnight!”

“That is just like you Enjolras,” Fantine said pleasantly, taking hold of his arm again and pulling him back into a walking pace. It looked very singular to be standing about like this. “A moment ago you had resigned yourself to a lifetime of being divided from him and now you are upsetting yourself over a fortnight.”

“I cannot go to town with this weighing on my mind!” Enjolras lamented, suddenly under a very different suffering than before. “I am supposed to be meeting with some of our writers!”

“I am sure they will find you charmingly distracted,” Fantine teased him.

Enjolras looked at her in mortification and she laughed warmly at him.

“You are nothing if not resourceful,” she said. “I am sure that you will contrive to speak to Mr. Grantaire before you—”

While they were talking, the sound of an approaching carriage had steadily been drawing nearer. Now the carriage itself came into view, emerging from behind the trees flanking the lane as it turned the corner. Enjolras nearly stepped into the hedgerow in confusion. The open carriage was very well known to him, and so were all those collected within it.

It was a favourite pastime of Grantaire’s to drive his younger siblings about and provided they did not actually go into the village, his mother had no objection to it. Or at least no objection strong enough that it could not be worn down by the relentless desire of all her brood to be out of doors and in the sunshine. And so it was that Enjolras found himself looking straight into Grantaire’s face, smiling down at Enjolras from where he was seated on the box-seat with the reigns in his hands.

“Now see what we have here!” Fantine said merrily, before Enjolras’ stunned silence could be allowed to drag on. “Grand R et tous les minuscules!”

This gave rise to a chorus of chirruped renditions of “how’d you do, Ma’am” and “how’d you do, Sir”, joined by Grantaire’s rather more eloquent greeting, which was paired with a particular look at Enjolras.

“What a fortunate meeting,” Fantine said pleasantly. “And what a very fine day for a drive.”

Enjolras hastily entered into the usual civilities, because he certainly did not trust himself to choose an appropriate topic of conversation at present. He was glad, very glad, to have the opportunity to see Grantaire once more before he left, but the impossibility to actually speak to him was excruciating.

“Forgive me, Mr. Grantaire, but are you continuing along this way?” Fantine asked suddenly.

“I drive wherever my passengers bid me to go,” Grantaire replied lightly. Consensus has long been that I should not be in charge of any decision. Genius is so rarely appreciated in its own time.”

Enjolras felt his mouth pull, perceiving in Grantaire’s older siblings that he was not the only one swallowing a reply to that particular remark. He was punished for hi inattention however, for Fantine continued swiftly on:

“Well, if your taskmasters do not object to sticking to the set course, I would be particularly grateful to you if you would be able to take my young charge here with you, as you would be going in the direction of his home.”

Enjolras coloured. “What?” he protested in confusion, barely seeing that Grantaire’s complexion did not escape unreddened either.

“Enjolras has been very dutiful accompanying me this far,” Fantine said deliberately. “but as I am arrived at my destination – I simply must call on Mr. Gillenormand,- he will have a rather lonely walk back.”

Enjolras clenched his teeth in disagreement. Fantine rather disliked Mr. Gillenormand and he was sure she had only named him because his house was at present the closest. It was true that she had been rather pointedly paying courtesy calls to him of late, but Enjolras was certain this had not been her object today.

“There is really no need—” he began, but Grantaire hastily spoke up:

“I would be more than happy to, I mean, if Mr. Enjolras does not object to—that is to say –”

The invitation was much more firmly echoed by all his siblings, who were very fond of Enjolras. The elder ones on account of his puns and the way he made their brother act quite silly, the younger ones on account of his secret smiles and his hair, which they were quite convinced was capable of glowing.

“You see, Enjolras,” Fantine said with twinkling eyes. “Our kind neighbours do not object in the slightest!”

And before he could think of an appropriate defence, Enjolras found himself seated on the box, beside Grantaire and making a valiant effort to be composed.

Fantine took leave of them all most cheerfully and Grantaire drove on, albeit at a rather more leisurely pace than before.

Of course the children commanded his attention first, but after their first inquiries were answered, they were soon distracted amongst themselves again and Enjolras risked a glance at Grantaire. He was looking well, perhaps a little tired, dressed in the much more casual dress he usually wore while riding or rambling about the country. To Enjolras, who had gotten to know Grantaire in his evening finery, this state of dress was infinitely superior.

He looked at Grantaire long enough for Grantaire to look over and meet his eyes.

He smiled a little cautiously. “No wish to call on Mr. Gillenormand yourself?” he asked.

“Even if I had, I hope you would not doubt that a drive with you would always take my preference,” Enjolras replied with a deliberate grimace.

A quick smile passed across Grantaire’s features. “Questionable praise,” he said amusedly. “And even more questionable approval.”

Enjolras smirked slightly. “But then you have never cared much for approval.”

“For your approval I have.”

For a moment there was nothing but silence between them, with only the chattering behind them to fill it, and Enjolras wondered and doubted.

“I am to go to London tomorrow.”

Grantaire did not look at him, watching the horses trot instead. “The free press must be attended to,” he nodded by way of an answer.

Enjolras had turned nearly fully towards him by this time, looking at Grantaire rather hard, attempting to see anything in his expression beyond pleasantry. “I suppose I will always have to be much in town,” he offered.

“I suppose you will.”

Once again silence and youthful chattering and Enjolras wished with all his might that he could be free to speak his mind plainly.

“My family business ties me to London as yours ties you to the country.”

It was spoken very deliberately and this time Grantaire looked at him. His light eyes were just a little wider than usual, just a touch uncertain.

“It is quite a thing,” Enjolras said quietly. “To run an estate.”

“Nothing like running a newspaper,” Grantaire replied, but the words seemed to be a mere reflex of a response, his eyes still fixed on Enjolras’ face as if he expected a different kind of conversation to be carried on merely in looks.

“No,” Enjolras agreed. “Very different things.”

It was indulgent, to imagine he could have a life with Grantaire. It was not realistic. Enjolras averted his eyes, fixing them on the road, but Grantaire did not return to his former position. He sat upright and tense, squeezing the reins without pulling them taught.

“Eloise has been extorting promises from me,” he suddenly spoke, surprising Enjolras by the sudden change of tone and subject.

“Has she?” he offered weakly, glancing back at Miss Eloise, third child in the row and currently employed in scolding her younger brother.

“Oh yes,” Grantaire continued, his expression oddly strained. “She has got it into her head that I will marry a spouse that will wish to run the estate with me and shall therefore thwart her desires in doing all the managing herself. She has declared to mama that there is no need for her to continue her lessons if she will not be allowed to use them. I am quite proud of her, inventing such suffering and injustice before it has even been done to her.”

All this was spoken in Grantaire’s usually sporting tone, but rather more hurried and a great deal softer than normal. It made Enjolras lift his eyes to Grantaire’s face again, taking in his friend’s heightened colour with a genuine quickening of heart.

“I did not know you intended to marry,” he said, keeping his voice down.

“I—” Grantaire swallowed and forced a grin. “I shall not be allowed to marry anyone that does not meet Eloise’s approval, evidently.”

Enjolras kept his gaze fixed. “I never much imagine married life. Indeed it is hard to imagine, considering my business—”

“We are not so very far from London.”

Enjolras shut his mouth and Grantaire seemed to wince at the interruption. The words had been blurted out unguardedly and even though Grantaire’s face was suddenly overspread with something very like distress, Enjolras felt something dance around his heart.

“You do not think so?” he asked urgently. “Your family does not keep a house in town.”

Instead of answering that, Grantaire gave Enjolras the most peculiar look. He stared at him for several moments and then abruptly turned away, staring stubbornly ahead of him. When he spoke it was so softly and so urgently that Enjolras was obliged to lean towards him to understand him.

“You have never made me guess at the meaning of your words. Your actions, perhaps, but never your words.”

There was a catch in Grantaire’s breath and his fingers twitched around the reins, making Enjolras’ own hand move to close around it before he prevented himself just in time, clasping his hands together in his lap. Grantaire was still speaking.

“But you must speak plainer to me now, because I am certain I misunderstand you—” Grantaire’s eyes flitted to him for a fraction of a second and Enjolras saw in them tenfold the disquiet he had felt the past few months.

Enjolras’ heart might well have been blocking his throat by this point, but he managed to speak even so. “If I should wish to write to you during my stay in London,” he said, voice barely keeping low because of the joy and nerves contained within them. “Should permission be begged from your mother, or rather from Miss Eloise?”

If a sunrise could be cautious, it would have described Grantaire’s expression exactly. His eyes lit up with a wild, uncertain joy, making him at once as handsome as Enjolras had ever known him and uncharacteristically quiet.

Enjolras did not suffer for his silence, however, because it suddenly seemed that the obstacles he had considered nearly unsurmountable, were rendered instantly insignificant. Perhaps, despite the affection Grantaire had displayed towards him, Enjolras had doubted its strength after all. At least he doubted whether it was strong enough to struggle against whatever difficulties its free expression would inevitably give rise to. Looking at him at present, however, seeing the shock mixed with happiness on his face, Enjolras was forced to conclude that Fantine had been right. Whatever Enjolras’ doubts might have been, Grantaire’s must have been even more painful.

Enjolras bowed his head a little in an attempt to hide his own expression and spoke softly: “I would speak plainer still, but at present…”

Beside him Grantaire drew in a breath as if he had been on the point of drowning. “Yes,” he said, his voice very nearly trembling with something like a nearly desperate, but elated laugh.

“You would not…object to me writing to you then?” Enjolras pressed gently.

For a moment Grantaire’s shoulders seemed to shake, his mouth moved as if to answer, but in the end he merely shook his head.

The carriage jolted and Enjolras moved just a little more towards Grantaire across the bench. “I know neither of us are free to speak at present,” he said hurriedly, voice low. “But would you—”

At that very moment they came to the crossroads that led towards the village. The steady progress of the carriage had gone wholly unnoticed by Enjolras.

Grantaire was already directing the horses to turn into this most travelled road, but there was a surprised clamour of exclamations behind them, followed by the loudly voiced anxieties of the littlest Grantaires that their Mama would be angry with them if they went into town.

Enjolras felt unable to do anything but deny any necessity of bringing him all the way to his door and so the carriage was stopped, clearly against the will of its driver. No sooner had it come to a stop, however, or Grantaire suddenly moved, jumping down from the seat and hurrying around it to hand Enjolras down.

It was a foolish, nonsensical gestures, and it made Enjolras’ cheeks burn. With his hand pressing down on Grantaire’s he stepped down, sorry to draw back and silently wishing his gloves had been thin enough to feel a little more of Grantaire’s warmth.

Grantaire was already climbing up again and now the distance between them was so that whatever was said to be heard, must be said in a raised voice. Enjolras had barely received an answer from Grantaire. A look, a word, nothing more to take with him to London.

“I wish you a safe journey,” Grantaire said with infuriating politeness, nodding down at him from the box.

“Thank you,” Enjolras bowed. “I am…most grateful for the ride.”

Grantaire’s siblings politely added their own wishes and partings and Enjolras smiled and answered them all, but as Grantaire took up the reigns again, his hands moved slowly enough to draw Enjolras’ notice. Only his left closed around the reigns, his right instead slowly raising to his face. His eyes met Enjolras and for a fleeting moment, unseen by anyone but him, Grantaire pressed his lips to his fingers, where Enjolras’ hand had grasped his.

It was a very good thing that the younger Grantaires shared with their brother the talent of being quite engrossed in their own talk, because creatures cut from any other sort of cloth would most definitely have seen Enjolras’ smile. It was radiant, and would last him to London and back.

**Author's Note:**

> Like nearly all my works this was betaed by my sister, who in this case also provided the necessary regency information. She wrote a stunning Les Mis Regency AU herself, with a secret Couferre engagement and beginning Enjoltaire and adorable Eposette. I highly recommend it, it's called [Dancing Through Life.](https://archiveofourown.org/series/911544)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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